Demon Days
by BlaineWarbler
Summary: The after-school students of McKinley High take refuge in the school as their world is turned upside-down by a zombie invasion/apocalypse. Blaine is one of the infected and must banish himself from the survivor's haven, and leave his boyfriend Kurt.


They had been holed up in the school for over a month, and food rations were getting low again.

"You know," Santana quipped, "I just may have come to accept tots as an essential and not at all tacky item of indegestible food."

Mercedes tried to smile. "Knew you'd come around."

"Well, it's not going to do for much longer, kiddos," Sue said, entering the cafeteria, carrying the last batch of tots from the kitchen. There weren't many left—the football team, the chess club, the Cheerios, Glee club and a few other staff members and stragglers—when the "virus" erupted.

Well, they didn't know what it was, really, but that it was turning people, and turning them fast. By some miracle, the cell towers were still working, and the kids who had, by and large, stayed out of harm's way by participating in after-school activities that Tuesday still had contact with the outside world.

Their phones allowed them to network and search the world for answers—but the answers left much to be desired. "You'd better stay there, where you're safe," Sam's father had told him when he called from Mercedes' cell. "Just keep checking in. It's no better here. I don't want to frighten you, Sammy…but it's the entire country."

A news broadcast Sue was able to get on her phone said that the government had put martial law in effect, that so far they could not come up with a culprit for what they suspect is some kind of chemical welfare from an unknown terrorist cell. The chemical agent supposedly triggers an extreme survival mode in those infected while quickly decomposing their flesh and rendering them insensible to reason, and insane.

It was something straight out of a nightmare.

"They're zombies," Brittany was the first to point out when the broadcast first broke weeks ago, while the remaining students went on lockdown. She was frightened, scared—but sure. They laughed at her assessment nervously, while Santana sat next to her, wrapping her arms around the girl.

But that's what they were. Zombies. Flesh-eating, decomposing bodies without a conciousness. Indiscriminate killers, they would kill their own children, their own friends and parents and lovers—given the chance.

They were not people. Not any more.

The Lima Bean and the local Lima Drugs and WalMart and a few other stores had also become strongholds during the infection while they waited for a word from their government to tell them it was over.

Sue, Will and Shannon would make expeditions twice a week for ammunition and provisions. At first they were unwilling to use the students, but Puck argued that he was legally an adult and wanted to help "kick some zombie ass!" A few other football players and glee guys signed on, some more reluctantly than others.

Santana was itching to go, but Brittany made her promise to be safe for her, and she couldn't risk it. For the first week, she stayed close to her girlfriend's side.

Many of the other couples felt the same. Emma tried to make Will stay, to no avail. Mercedes was useless with stopping Sam. Tina tried to go along with Mike, not wanting to be separated from him. "Are you crazy, Tina? That's not going to happen!"

"If anyone should go, I should go!" Tina argued. "I'm a much better shot!"

"Which is why you need to _stay_ and protect everyone here."

Tina wasn't lying—she was excellent with a gun. Something she needed to prove a couple times before from the rooftop of McKinley once they learned it was not an airborn toxin now turning people but direct contact with the infected.

But there was, even more surprisingly to some, one shot better than Tina in the glee club—Kurt Hummel. "All those years of concentrated focus, trying to survive and keep my eyes on the goal, dodging bullies and preparing for locker impact after getting shoved the halls really helped, I guess," he said by way of explanation, shrugging off his talent.

Blaine had certainly been impressed, at least.

_Blaine._

* * *

"Do we need to make another food run, Sue?" Will asked after helping himself to some tots.

Sue surveyed the students worriedly. "Yeah, might as well be prepared. Let's get the team together…Puckerman, Lopez, Evans, Beiste, Schuester—to the truck. Changs, Porcelian—on lookout."

Kurt peeled himself off the ground just as Rachel came up to him, tears still in her eyes. It seemed like she never stopped crying these days. Kurt was just too exhausted to feel pain anymore. "Are you sure you're okay, Kurt?"

"Hmm? Yeah. Just…a little out of it, I guess."

She gripped his shoulder, trying to look him in the eyes. "It's okay to cry, Kurt." He wrenched his arm away from her, as if burned.

"He's _not_ dead."

Rachel bit her lip. "Okay," she said softly. "Not…technically. But Kurt, you've got to let out your feelings. I know how hard this must be for yo—"

"You have NO idea how hard this is for me, Rachel!" Kurt snapped. Rachel shut her eyes, and the boy relented. "I just…I don't want to talk about it. Maybe I will later."

"It's been a month, Kurt…" she whispered so softly she wasn't sure if the boy heard her at all.

"It's been 25 days and four hours," Kurt said mechanically. "Now please leave me alone. I need to go on patrol," and he handed her his phone, the unspoken command of 'protect this with your life' present in his eyes.

* * *

Mercedes was put in charge of combing news sources for updates, and Rachel and Quinn were put to task responding to all incoming texts and calls and messages from loved ones and safe allies. Rachel handled the personal inquiries and correspondences, and Quinn proved to be a great tactical aid—planning out what shops had become strongholds, where they should go next, who they needed to get in contact with.

Kurt couldn't stand the silence. It was too much. But at least Finn and his father and Carole were safe—his father in D.C., Finn at the hospital with Carole.

Finn and Carole hadn't been harmed—he put himself in charge of his mother's well-being by transporting her to and from the hospital where they mainly stayed while Carole worked administering to the sick and injured that still needed help.

"Blaine was here," Kurt remembered the call so well, every word burned into his brain. It had been more than three weeks ago.

"How was he? Was he okay? Where did he go?" Kurt asked in one breath.

Finn faltered. "I—I don't know. Mom didn't know what was wrong with him. She thought he could be infected…she couldn't say. He looked alright, though. Sorry I can't say more…"

"Where did he go?" Kurt repeated urgently. "Is he still there?"

"No. He left. Carole wanted him to stay in a containment unit, but he wouldn't. We have his number, but he hasn't been texting or calling."

Kurt's shoulders fell. "He hasn't checked in with me in days."

Days turned to weeks. Nothing. Kurt feared the worst, but tried to not let it come to the front of his mind. Blaine was still out there. He had to be.

He checked in with Blaine's parents, who were useless with information—hadn't seen Blaine since the morning he'd left for school. Blaine hadn't gone back home—their security alarm didn't show it—and the Andersons had fled the state, fearing the worst after the news of Blaine's infection.

Cooper tried to be of help, but he was desperately without news, either, and stuck in L.A.

"He's checked in," Cooper said three weeks ago. "I was going to track him on my GPS but he called from a payphone, I think."

"Why would he call from a payphone?" Kurt asked.

"I don't know, Kurt. I wish I had answers. He sounded…bad. Tired. I can't…I don't want to think about him out there."

"Did he tell you anything to tell me?" Kurt breathed, desperate for any kind of validation. Even this little communication would be enough.

He could almost hear Cooper shaking his head on the other line. "I'm so sorry, Kurt," his voice choked with emotion.

* * *

When the food expedition came back safe and without too much to report except for a couple stray flesh-eaters that got pumped full of iron (Puck's prose), everyone was overjoyed. They relished in the simplest things, those days.

"Kurt?" a voice called. It was Santana. She stepped hesitantly from the group and beckoned Kurt into one of the empty halls. Kurt, confused, trailed behind. "We found something today at the drug store." She pulled from behind her back a peice of torn fabric splattered with a little blood, though the festive print was still clear, the fabric twisted into a shape—

a bowtie.

Kurt swallowed, reaching out for it slowly as if he didn't really want it—not at all—but needed it, like the worst medicine.

Proof. It was proof. Proof the worst had happened.

He tried to make his voice work as his hand clenched down around the fabric in his hands, his eyes screwing shut. "Where…?"

Santana shook her head. "We couldn't find him," she said, her own voice so torn apart and anguished and hidden under a thin layer of composure.

Kurt shook his head, and turned away.

Dead. Blaine was dead.

Even if he hadn't been killed, he would have turned by now, if he was infected. It had been weeks. Kurt had heard the reports, knew all the statistics by heart. It took less than an hour for the bitten to turn, maybe days for the scratched—a week, tops. But that was it. That was all—eventually they all turned, and had to be put down.

Hoping, at this point, was useless.

When he returned to the cafeteria, the happy faces were almost too much. The expedition party looked over at Kurt with sympathetic smiles. Those were the worst.

Sam made his way over, touching Kurt on the shoulder. "Kurt…I wanted to apologize. For…that day. Blaine should have stayed. I mean, we lost…Artie and Joe and so many others in that attack…I was worried." His face was haunted with regret, but even as he said it he looked over at Mercedes, happily chatting with Santana, and sighed, a little smile pulling at the edge of his mouth. "You have to know, I just…I wanted everyone _safe_."

And Kurt knew. Knew that Sam was a great guy. That Sam would do anything than let what happened to Blaine happen to his girlfriend.

"He should have stayed. He should have stayed until he turned. I was so wrong."

Kurt shook his head. "It's okay, Sam. He said his goodbyes. He left us. He left me. You were only doing what you thought was right."

"I'm so, so sorry, Kurt."

But Kurt couldn't look at the boy any longer without being reminded of what he had lost, watching the tears well up in the blonde boy's eyes and gripping the bloody bowtie in his fist.

No. It was over.

* * *

Kurt unchained the back exit to the school, and closed it up behind him securely, moving to the garden. If he were to be attacked, he could swing up the fire escape easily and retreat to the roof. He knew from experience zombies had trouble with precise coordinated manuvers, but that they could crush a man up close in a second. As long as he was fast, and maintained distance, he would be fine.

But it hardly mattered. McKinley hadn't seen much action for such a long time. It's as if the flesh-eaters were completely unaware of their existence. Kurt hoped for the others' sakes it would stay that way.

He dug his hand into the ground, grateful for the way it gave under his fingers. He didn't mind the dirt these days. It was pure, in a way.

He thought about keeping the bowtie, but he knew it would be too much to greive for. It had already been too long.

He lowered the fabric into the ground and said a few words through tears.

"_Hhhhhhaaaaaaahh!_" a strange guttural hiss his sounded out of nowhere, peircing Kurt's senses immediately. He sprung up from the ground as quick as he could, but tripped, his ankle twisting painfully underneath him.

"_Fuck!_" Kurt yelled, pushing himself off the ground and stumble-running to the fire escape.

He wasn't quick enough.

The monster grabbed on to Kurt's boot, clawing away at the tough fabric while the boy gripped tightly onto the metal escape, pulling himself up desperately.

But after a few inhumanly strong tugs, the creature had thrown Kurt to the ground.

The world clouded around him in those last moments. He wouldn't be strong enough to fight it as he was, for very long. He would get infected. He would die.

He wanted it. Wanted to let it happen.

And as he closed his eyes, he felt it all slipping away—the bowtie, the talk with Santana and Sam, the phone calls, the news of infection, the lockdown, the incident…all the way back to glee club that Tuesday afternoon, singing duets. His duet with Blaine. The rich voice, those coffee dates, the performances, their endless crappy reality tv shows, their first time…their first kiss. _I've been looking for you forever._

He felt weightless at that moment, and free.

And then he heard the shout, and the gun shot. And the body that fell with a thunk to the ground beside him.

And then arms were around him, safe and secure and warm. And when he opened his eyes, he imagined it was Blaine there holding him, picking him up from the ground.

The illusion was so strong, Kurt had trouble getting back to reality.

_He was alive._

"We need to get you back inside," the voice said urgently. That rich voice.

_Blaine. _

Kurt couldn't say the words, just nodded and gripped down onto the boy's arm, and allowed himself to be pulled up onto the fire escape.

"Can you climb? We need to start climbing."

"Blaine…"

"No, Kurt. We need to move."

"No, Blaine…" Kurt held onto him as if he wasn't real, as if he would just slip away if he didn't hold on. "I'm not dead, am I?"

Blaine laughed. "No, you're not dead." His voice hardened. "What do you think you were doing out here without a gun? You were nearly killed."

But Kurt just smiled, pulling back to look at his boyfriend—he was badly scratched up, probably by trees or branches, though. His clothes were torn, and he only wore an open ripped cardigan over a dirty wife-beater. His hair was unruly—he looked tired, and beaten, but…happy, too.

Kurt felt overwhelmed. He kissed him for just the breifest moment before pulling away. "_You're alive_." He breathed.

"Did you forget?" He laughed. "You forgot to say goodbye to me." Kurt wanted to cry.

"But—how?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Why didn't you call me? How did you survive? "

"Ah, but those are my secrets," Blaine said with a smirk. "I've been living around the school for weeks, killing off zombies before they got onto the grounds. I've been a little overwhelmed with them lately, but, I was doing a pretty decent job…my phone's been destroyed. It was accident—it fell. Weeks ago now, I guess. "

He gripped Kurt's shoulders tightly and looked him in the eyes. "I couldn't let them get to you Kurt."

Kurt wanted to laugh, but he was so drained he could only smile. "I'm encased in the locked fortress that is McKinely and I'm the best shooter in the school."

Blaine moved his head from side to side, with a considering look on his face. "Well, maybe not anymore. I've gotten a lot better." Kurt bit his lip and Blaine quirked his head, eyebrows furrowing. "What is it?"

"Are you…" he couldn't say it.

But Blaine just smiled. "No, I'm not. Like I said, I don't think I ever was. But—I had to be sure. I had to wait it out. I was going to wait longer, but…"

"NO!" Kurt cried, and threw his arms around his boyfriend. "You aren't infected. It's been a month. Let's go inside, please. You're not leaving me again."

Blaine put his arms around Kurt, holding him close and breathing him in. "I don't plan to."

"Good," Kurt said. "Because _I am never saying goodbye to you_, Blaine Anderson."

Trying not to cry, Blaine laughed. "So…any tots left for me?"

Kurt smiled. "I think we still have a few."


End file.
